“Don’t worry about me!” Phoebe cried in an agony of apprehension. “Get Meg before they swim her.”

Brian looked down at her for a second. Then he rode down the witch finder.

The man seemed to freeze as the piebald stallion pounded the bank towards him, clods of earth flying from beneath his great hooves. And then the animal was rearing over him and he could see the white underbelly, the thrashing hooves above his head. He flung himself sideways, but he was a hair too late and he went down with a shriek of pain beneath a flying hoof that caught him on the shoulder. The crowd was for a moment too stunned to move, then as the stallion reared again, they jumped to all sides and Meg was alone, naked and slumped in her bonds.

But she looked up as the horse came to a halt beside her.

Brian leaned down with his sword unsheathed and slashed the rope that bound her wrists. Meg needed no instruction; she jumped for his stirrup, grabbing the hand he held down to her. Brian hauled her up to the saddle in front of him and rode through the now milling bewildered mob.

“Up,” he said to Phoebe, holding down his hand. She grabbed it and hauled herself up, scrambling for purchase on his boot.

“Meg… Meg… how hurt are you?” She tried to reach around Brian to touch Meg.

“Keep still, girl!” he commanded as his horse tossed his mane with a snort.

Phoebe retreated hastily, fighting her fear as the horse took off immediately.

“I’ll follow you,” Olivia called. She had her hands on the dogs’ collars, holding them back as they strained towards the excitement of the mayhem on the riverbank.

Phoebe clung to Brian’s belt as the beast hurtled up through the field, away from the river.

The wind whistled past her ears and she could find no breath to speak, and she was too scared to let go of Brian’s belt long enough to try again to reach a comforting hand around him to Meg. It was cold, the wintery sun offering no warmth. Meg must be freezing; her own teeth were chattering, but that was aftermath rather than cold.

Cato had just mounted his horse at the front step of the house, preparing to ride to headquarters, when Brian’s horse galloped onto the gravel sweep.

Cato couldn’t believe his eyes. Brian held a naked woman on the saddle in front of him; behind him Phoebe clung for dear life, her face white as a sheet, her jaw clenched.

Brian reined in so suddenly, the horse skidded, digging in his rear hooves and nearly sending Phoebe sliding over his rump. She managed to save herself just in time and tumbled sideways instead, succeeding by the skin of her teeth in landing on her feet.

“Cato… my lord… the witch finder is come. They took us up and have hurt Meg so sorely.” The words came through violently chattering teeth, and Cato could barely make head or tail of them.

He swung down from his horse and automatically put a steadying arm around her as she rushed up to him. He looked to where understanding might be found. “What’s going on, Brian?”

Brian dismounted in almost leisurely fashion. “I was fortunate enough to effect a timely rescue, my lord. The witch finder and the mob were at the river. They had this woman-”

“Who would be grateful if someone would have the decency to give her something to cover herself with,” Meg interrupted in sharp accents.

“Oh, Meg, how thoughtless of me. Take this.” Phoebe moved out of Cato’s encircling arm and tore off her cloak. She held it up to Meg. “How badly did they hurt you?” she asked distressfully. “I could do nothing-”

“Seems to me you did all that was needed,” Meg broke in, wrapping herself in Phoebe’s cloak. “I’m not drowned in a freezing river, am I?” She tried to smile but her mouth seemed numb and a violent convulsion of shivering ripped through her.

“Who is this woman?” Cato demanded.

“I can give you the answer myself, Lord Granville,” Meg declared, her tone remarkably robust. “The bastard of a witch finder didn’t take my tongue. I’m generally known hereabouts as Mistress Meg, the healer.”

Cato grasped at a familiar straw. Phoebe had talked of such a friend in the village. A friendship he had forbidden.

The woman looked at death’s door, wrapped in nothing but Phoebe’s cloak.

“Come, you need to be in the warm.” He reached up and lifted her to the ground, but when he set her down, her knees buckled and she would have slid to the ground if he hadn’t supported her.

“You there! Trooper!” He called over one of the troopers who’d been observing the scene with unabashed curiosity. “Carry Mistress Meg into the house. Ask Mistress Bisset to have a care for her.”

“Oh, you made it safely!” Olivia was shouting as she came round the side of the house, having taken a shortcut through the home farm. The dogs bounded ahead of her. “Is Meg badly hurt?” She arrived panting. Her face was very white, her lips so pale as to be almost blue.

“Olivia! What has happened? Are you ill?” Cato looked at his daughter in concern. “Tell me what’s happened.” He passed Meg over to the trooper and bent to take Olivia’s cold hands in his.

“Oh, it was so frightening,” Olivia said, catching her breath on a sob. “We were in Meg’s c-cottage when the witch finder c-came for her. And they took Phoebe too, so I had to rescue her when they had her bound on the village green, but we c-couldn’t save Meg from the pricking, and then… then…” Olivia hesitated fractionally. “Brian was at the river and he rode them down and rescued Meg.”

Cato listened to this breathless explanation in astounded fury. “Bound on the village green?” he demanded in something akin to a bellow. His wife bound on the village green! He dropped Olivia’s hands and swung around on Phoebe.

“Please… it wasn’t for long,” Phoebe said, wincing at his tone. She didn’t think she could bear his anger… not now. She was shivering and her knees seemed to have turned to water now that the need for action was passed.

“Really it wasn’t,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. “I must go and tend Meg.” She turned to follow the trooper into the house.

Cato caught her arm in a steely grip. “You are going nowhere until you’ve explained what’s going on here. None of it makes any sense to me at all.”

“It wasn’t Phoebe’s fault, sir,” Olivia broke in passionately. “Indeed you c-can’t blame her. She was so brave. They just took her up because she tried to defend Meg.”

“They took you up for a witch!” At last Cato grasped the reality. His hands moved to Phoebe’s shoulders and for a dreadful minute she thought he was going to shake her, there on the drive, in front of everyone.

“I told you it was going to happen. I told you if you didn’t do something…” Her voice choked on a lump of tears and she massaged her throat, glaring up at him with unnaturally bright eyes.

“Come with me!” He released her and marched into the house. Phoebe hesitated, then followed her husband in. He stalked to his study and held the door for her, gesturing she should precede him.

Rage rode him like a jockey. The door shivered in its frame as he slammed it shut behind him.

“So, what have you to say?” he demanded, striding to the big desk.

“I told you it was going to happen. I told you about the rumors and that Meg was unjustly accused. If you’d stepped in earlier, it would not have gone so far. If you’d listened to me instead of talking about justice and unsavory reputations, none of this would have happened.” Her voice shook, and there was a hard nut of nausea in her belly. “You cannot blame me!” she cried, her hand going to her throat again as if she could ease the tightness that was making it difficult to breathe.

Cato stared at her in disbelief. “You are blaming me for that shambles!” He was still carrying his riding whip, and he slashed it across the desk in livid emphasis.